Meeting the Folks
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Napoleon takes Illya home to introduce him to his parents. What will the Solo think of their son's intended? ** Mild Slash **


When Napoleon called and said he was bringing someone special home to meet us, my spirits and my hopes soared. After all, what all-American father doesn't want his son to find the perfect woman, pass along his genes and continue the family blood line? After his disastrous first marriage, Napoleon had always played pretty free and easy with the dating card and I honestly didn't think the boy was ever going to settle down.

Needless to say, I was just a mite surprised when Napoleon hopped out of the car and was followed by a young man.

"Mom, Dad, this is Illya." There are times that define a father's role in life. The first time you're handed your newborn son, the first time you toss a football back and forth and the first time you meet his intended. Of course, I'd rather hoped Napoleon would be bring a girl home, but that just goes to show. My son has never been someone anyone could predict.

He introduced us to this quiet young man and at first I wondered what had attracted Napoleon to him. He was the opposite of Napoleon in every way, a little shorter and seemly slight of build; at least until he shook your hand. I was delighted to avoid any bone crushing during the encounter. I realized, like Napoleon, it was the careful tailoring of his suit that hid a powerful body. Then I saw his eyes and knew what had captured my son's heart.

I could see that they were both crazy in love with each other. Napoleon just exuded happiness, almost to the point of it threatening to eclipse everything and everyone else. Illya seemed more contained, but that could have just been his nature or the strangeness of the situation. If I felt strange, imagine how he must feel, being hauled up to be displayed like a side of beef.

Mother was just delighted to have our globetrotting son home for a change. Napoleon had always been a home body before Joyce's death. I don't think he'd have ever even left the state given the option. But his number came up in the draft and he was happy to go. He left a brokenhearted young boy and came back a confident and self possessed man. I had always sort of felt bad, for I could still see the frightened little boy beneath the polish and culture of the man who stepped off that bus that morning.

Illya delighted Mother by having a healthy appetite. I was intrigued as to where someone that skinny could put so much food. You can tell a lot about a man by the way he approaches his food. Napoleon eats mechanically, as if he can't really taste what he's putting in his mouth. He eats because he has to, but I think he'd prefer avoiding the whole thing if he could. Illya appreciated every mouthful. You could tell by the way he chewed and savored everything he put into his mouth. He ate as if he might never have the pleasure again. Again, Napoleon's opposite, yet I couldn't help but notice that their eyes never seemed to leave the other for more than a few seconds at a time, as if afraid the other would vanish if they stopped being vigilant.

After dinner, Mother suggested that Napoleon help her with the dishes, while I showed Illya around the place. Immediately, I headed out into the backyard, supposedly to show Illya our vegetable garden, but the truth was it was a chance to grab a smoke. Mother is a tyrant about smoking in the house and I'd been dying for a cigarette since before dinner.

I dug my pack out of my shirt pocket and offered it first to him. I saw a moment's hesitation and then he took one, I think more to be polite than out of actual desire. I lit up and took that first heavenly drag, letting the nicotine delight my nerves. They say this is bad for you and they are probably right, for anything this pleasurable has to be. I watched him light up, a practiced move, so I'm guessing he was a smoker at one point in his life.

We just stood there for a long time it seemed, just smoking and listening to the night sounds. It was odd, but the silence wasn't strained, it was… comfortable.

"I guess this is about the time that I should ask if your intentions are honorable." I propped myself up on a stone wall and looked out into the field beyond it. You couldn't see much now, the encroaching night was painting everything deep purple and blue. I sort of chuckled so that he knew I was joking. I had a feeling deep in my gut that it didn't matter what anyone else said or thought at this point.

"It would seem an expected and appropriate question." He never gave anything away; naturally cautious this one.

"You love him." I decided to cut to the chase.

"Yes." Illya ground out his butt on a stone and continued to stare at the horizon.

"How do your parents feel about this?" There was a pause and I wondered if I'd made a _faux pas_.

"They are…concerned… for our safety."

"Safety?"

"In the U.S.S.R. homosexuality is punishable by death." Illya glanced over at me, the smallest of smiles on his lips and one I could just barely see in the darkness. "It's a mother's right to worry and she is very fond of Napoleon."

"What about you? Isn't she worried about you?"

"I've long maintained a reputation for taking care of myself." Then the smile grew. "And Napoleon, as well."

"And Napoleon as well what?" My son came around the corner and waved at the air. "Mom's going to kill you if she finds out you two have been out here smoking." Napoleon grimaced at Illya. "And you? I thought you gave this up."

"I was being polite." Illya shrugged, meeting Napoleon's eyes dead on.

"That would be a first." Then Napoleon did something that rather shocked me. He kissed Illya, in front of me. Had it been a girl, I suppose it wouldn't have had quite the impact. The kiss was warm, tender, everything a kiss should be and that's when it struck me. This wasn't about sins against mankind or being perverted or half dozen other things I'd heard leveled against the crime of homosexuality. This was about two people being in love. Nothing more or less and try as I might, I just couldn't come up with anything bad about this situation. What could be wrong with love? I patted my son on the shoulder and left them to it.

When they came back inside a short time later, I noticed both were looking a little rumpled and there were a couple of bruises around their necks that I hadn't noticed earlier. I kept my attention elsewhere while Mother served dessert and chatted about the weather, the local happenings, anything to avoid the smug, very satisfied look in Napoleon's eye. As far as I knew, there was only one way to make a man look that smug and we both knew it.

We ate, drank coffee and made polite conversation, and then Napoleon whisked his partner away, to play chess he said, but I suspected there was something else on his mind. No matter, it was late, I was tired and Mother and I went to bed with little ceremony.

What exactly woke me, I wasn't sure. The breeze was soft and the night sounds gentle and sweet; then I heard something else, equally soft and sweet - the sound of two people making love. Not just anyone, but Napoleon and Illya, since they were the only ones in the house besides us and Mother was snoring away.

It was wrong of me, I know that, but I couldn't help it. Quietly I climbed from the bed and pressed my ear to the wall separating our rooms and listened.

The voices were too soft for me to make out individual words, but I know what two people in love say in this situation, the promises of a lifetime together, of undying love and then there was something more basic, needier, I suppose is the word.

A voyeur, I listened to Napoleon's soft moans, Illya's responding grunts in rhythm with a quietly creaking bed spring and then a half muffled cry as first one and then the other climaxed and still I stood there, shamelessly eavesdropping as they attested to their love to each other with soft sighs and softer words. The images I had in my head were confused as I didn't really know the specifics of how two men made love, but it sounded as pleasant and satisfying as when a man and woman did.

That's when I became aware of my own aching erection. I had two courses of action open to me. I could take care of it myself or…I climbed back into bed and gently stroked my wife's arm.

"Mmm, is there a problem, my sweet?" She was only partially awake and I kissed her soundly, reaching for one of her breasts.

"What brought this on?" She ran a finger down my cheek, smiling up at me, half hidden in shadows.

"Love is in the air," I murmured, stretching out on top of her.

"I prefer it somewhere else," she whispered back, I'm sure feeling ever so naughty.

It had been awhile since we had sex quite that satisfying or spontaneous. Thankfully, neither Mother nor I is a screamer or the boys would have had an earful that night. Not that they would have noticed. As we were settling back to sleep, I could hear them at it again and I smiled. Ah to be young and that much in love… and have that much energy.

Napoleon came into the kitchen the next morning, whistling, looking to be on top of the world, if a little bleary eyed. If anything, he looked a bit more tired than before he went to bed the night before. Satisfied, but tired.

"Dad, sleep well?" He poured himself some coffee and joined me at the table. I noticed he kept his collar buttoned at his throat and I couldn't help it. I reached over and undid the button to reveal a couple of sizable hickies.

I grinned, shook my head slowly, and regarded him. "I had a good night."

"So we heard." There was the hint of the devil in his eyes.

"As did we." I raised an eyebrow and tapped one of the bruises. Napoleon did something I'd thought impossible - he blushed.

"Sorry, we were trying to be quiet." He dropped his gaze to the table top. "I just can't help it sometimes."

"No apologies necessary, Son. You are a Solo, after all. And you were responsible, at least in part, for making your mother a very satisfied woman last night." I gave a half embarrassed chuckle and then rested my hand on his. "Are you happy, son? Is he a good man? Are you in love, really and honestly in love?"

"More than I ever thought was possible. I can't describe it, Dad. It's… when I'm with Illya, it's like I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Everything's perfect and balanced. I've never felt like this before, not even with Joyce and I thought I loved her. But it's nothing like… I can't explain it."

"That's because he's your soul mate, Napoleon. Some people search their whole lives and never find theirs, or they're too blind or too stupid to see what's in front of them."

"Is that what it's like for you and Mom?"

"I'd like to think so. She is my world. She makes me happy and crazy. I don't want to live a day without her smile or hearing her voice. Thinking of life without her beside me makes my heart want to stop beating." I felt my eyes grow a little misty and then Napoleon's hand squeezed mine, almost tenderly.

He nodded and smiled – his beautiful mother's smile. "I'm happier than I deserve to be.

"Everyone deserves to be happy, son." And I meant that and I turned his hand to look at the ring he wore on his little finger. That ring had been passed from father to son for generations and while it pained me to think the tradition would stop with Napoleon, it didn't matter. Illya walked into the room just then and I watched Napoleon's face light up and his eyes grow tender.

He's found his place in the world and the one person he's meant to share it with. And that's all a father could… no, should want for his son.


End file.
